


Falling

by DestinationDarkness



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinationDarkness/pseuds/DestinationDarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First ever fic I'm posting here. Short oneshot, angsty. No BETA</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

The breath got caught in his chest, making him close his eyes. Clenching, hurting. It took over his way of breathing, made his chest tight and stinging for air. Even if he tried to take deep breaths it wouldn’t help, the pain would still there and darken his word, making everything hurt. Pulling him down. Making him fall.

Three weeks now. For three weeks had he felt like a total waste of space. To the outside, things seemed fine. To the people he talked to, the people he wrote to, the people he met. Everyone was greeted with the same usual smile, the same genuine laugh and the same heated debates about this and that. He was his normal self to everyone who knew him. More than that actually, talking about dreams and the future with a dreamy voice and a spark in his eyes. But over it all laid a dark, tired shadow. The second he was by himself again, everything came crashing down and his chest refused to take in air. It hurt, but he lived through it. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. He’d always made it, and always would.

Except this time it might actually kill him.

After putting away the dishes and turning of the TV, in the middle of his favorite show, he made his way to the small bed. The sheets had twisted themselves during the past night and weren’t really in the bed anymore, but he couldn’t bother to correct them. Instead he just fell face down into the madras and closed his eyes.

He just lay like that for a while. Not thinking, not feeling, just focusing on breathing. The slow intake of oxygen that made his body survive. The slow movement of his chest that indicated that he was indeed still alive. His body was working, but he wasn’t. The darkness of the room was nice, although it was a bit cold. He had tried to reduce the heat cost in his small apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to walk over to the radiator and turn it up, or even pulling the cover over his body. So he just lay there, breathing. Slow and painful movements that just made him even more sad, dark, and broken open. 

He thought about killing himself. Just a brief though, not too serious since he was actually, in the bottom of his heart, a happy and loving man. But this pain was seeping through his every pore, spreading its way like cancer through his heart and mind. He tried hurting himself. It didn’t help a bit, just intensified the hurt in his mind. He couldn’t let himself sink to such a level. He would pull himself up. Any day now. Any day he would wake up and that dark shadow that was pressing down hard onto his existence would be gone, or at least looser. Any day now. 

But the darkness didn’t go away. It didn’t lose its grip or made any apologies. It stayed, and it gripped him harder and harder for every day passing. The pain was affecting his whole being. He lost weight, hair, his job, his friends, even parts of his family. Eventually, piece by piece, he was disappearing from this world, letting himself get dragged down into the shadows. Every day some little piece of his existence disappeared and died. Crawled away and didn’t return. Everything just got darker, and darker.

 

It all went so fast. One minute he was weighing the gun in his hand, the next it was across the room. It would lay there for a long time. Just staring out into the cold room. The cold metal against the warmth of the turned down radiator. The killing machine just resting, as if it couldn’t do any harm in the world. Eventually it would be taken away, where he didn’t know. Would never know. Didn’t care. All he cared about was a pair of strong arms holding him in a tight grip against his chest, sobbing and whispering soothing words into his ear, neck, hair, being.

The gun would forever remain unfired.

Although the pain was making shiver, holding a grip stronger than ever, he didn’t even register it. The only thing that went through his mind was the embrace he was in, the voice in his ear and that scent of the man holding him. Closing his eyes, he held the man tighter to himself and took a deep, trembling breath. 

Everything would be okay.


End file.
